


Ad Vitare Calamitas

by piratesPencil



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Earth C (Homestuck), Family Bonding, Gen, Marijuana, Moirails, Post-Canon, Recreational Drug Use, The Homestuck Epilogues, implied Ultimate Self issues, sort of a homestuck epilogues au where things don't go so horribly wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:35:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25228438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piratesPencil/pseuds/piratesPencil
Summary: “I just think, maybe, Dirk and Rose need to chill? No, that sounds bad. It’s just… Look, have you noticed that they both seem to be… off, recently?” John asks.After three years on Earth C, John introduces Jane to his... hobby, and invites Dirk and Rose along for the ride. (Aka, John and Jane make weed brownies, and prevent disaster.)
Relationships: Jane Crocker & John Egbert, Jane Crocker♦Dirk Strider
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	Ad Vitare Calamitas

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on this post I came across right after reading the epilogues last year: https://piratespencil.tumblr.com/post/184591017757/i-saw-a-post-floating-around-that-said-something

Your name is Jane Crocker, and you wish your ecto-son would just spit it out.

“Okay. So. I have something to show you, but… please don’t get mad, okay? Also, don’t tell Dad. Definitely don’t tell Dad,” John is saying.

He’s sitting on his kitchen counter, kicking his legs like a kid as he speaks. You guess he is still a kid, sort of. You’re both only nineteen, though sometimes you feel a lot older.

Sometimes it feels like you’ve been on Earth C for a lot longer than three years.

“John.” You reach over and put a hand on his knee to stop him from kicking a dent into his cupboard. He looks at you. Nervous. Hopeful. “I won’t get mad.”

He scrunches up his nose in a way that reminds you of Jake. And of Jade. Maybe you do it, too, actually. You’re still getting used to this whole being related thing, really.

“Are you _sure_?” he asks. “Because, and I don’t want to sound rude or anything, but you can be kind of a, um…”

You put your hands on your hips and size him up, and you _know_ this is something Jade does too. You can almost imagine the fuzzy white ears on top of your head flicking with disdain, if you had them. “I’m a _what_ , John Egbert?”

“Kind of a stick in the mud? Hey!”

He ducks out of the way when you throw some loose flour at him, but he’s also laughing, so whatever it is he’s so nervous to show you can’t be _that_ bad, right?

“Why does everyone think that? I’m fun! I can be fun!” You turn and smack the bread dough you were kneading before John got all serious—it’s one of the few things the two of you bake together when you hang out, since bread is one baked good that John hasn’t sworn off yet.

“Yes, _Mom_ ,” John says, grinning cheekily.

“Oh, shut up,” you say. He only calls you Mom when he’s messing with you, so really, he can’t be _that_ worried about whatever it is.

You give the bread dough a few final kneads for good measure, then shape it into a loaf and drop it into a pan. You cover it with a clean towel and then turn back to face John, wiping the flour from your hands onto the front of your apron.

“Okay,” you say. You pull the apron over your head and toss it onto the counter. “What is this big secret I can’t be mad about and can’t tell Dad about?”

John winces slightly, then seems to make up his mind, and shrugs.

“Come on,” he says, heading out of the room. “This way.”

You follow him.

* * *

You don’t know what you’re looking at.

Well, alright, that isn’t true. You know _exactly_ what you’re looking at, but it’s just… not what you were expecting. You’re not actually sure what you were expecting John to show you, but it definitely wasn’t this.

You might have only known your ecto-son for three years, but you thought you knew him pretty well. Apparently not well enough.

You just didn’t think John would have a basement full of, well, weed.

“It’s, um, a hobby?” John says, rubbing the back of his neck. At least he has the decency to look sheepish.

“That’s one word for it,” you say. You reach over to touch the nearest plant. It looks healthy. The whole place looks impressive, actually. What is it called? Hydroponics? You think that’s what it’s called, and it looks like John knows his stuff.

Your knowledge of weed might be pretty much entirely limited to unfathomable SBaHJ references and the occasional shitty movie your friends have made you watch (they all have terrible taste in movies, every single one of them) but you know enough to have the sense that John is, well, _good_ at this. Growing weed, that is.

“Do you, um…” You wave your hand near your mouth for a second before awkwardly finishing your sentence. “Smoke it?”

“Haha, uh… Yeah?” John says, almost like he’s afraid of what you might think of that.

There’s a part of you that wants to get mad at him about it. (The part of you that’s his mom, maybe? No, that’s too weird to think about.) But he’s an adult, almost, or at least not any younger than you. He can make his own choices.

And if that choice is to grow a mini forest of weed in his basement and smoke it, well, who are you to tell him no?

You shrug and pull your hand away from the plant. You don’t really like how it smells, honestly, and you’re kind of excited to get out of this basement. It’s just… _weird_ , really, that John has this mildly illegal hobby that you knew nothing about.

Is it illegal, actually? You’re not sure where Earth C stands on recreational marijuana use.

“I’m glad you, um, have a hobby, John,” you say lamely. Then, suddenly, “Wait. Does Casey come down here?”

“No! No. Of course not! I never smoke around her either.” He draws an X over his heart, _cross my heart and hope to die_ style. “Not around dear, sweet, precious Casey.”

There was a time when you thought it was weird that John parents that salamander like she’s his own daughter, but at this point Casey has just become one of John’s quirks. Like growing weed, apparently.

He seems to be parenting her _well_ , at least.

“That’s good,” you say, starting to edge towards the basement door. You’re not sure why John felt the need to show you this—just to get it off his chest?—but you’re ready to go back upstairs and check on the bread and—

“Actually,” John says quickly, when he realizes you’re starting to leave, “I was hoping you could help me, uh, bake? With it?”

“What?” Your voice comes out just slightly too squeaky and panicked, and gosh darnit, you don’t want to sound like a stick in the mud but you’ve really never been comfortable around anything that’s dubiously legal or moral.

You don’t really think there’s anything wrong with weed, it’s just, well… It’s hard to unlearn a lifetime of thinking things are a certain way, okay? Even if that thing is just “drugs are bad.”

“You know, like, edibles,” John says, seemingly oblivious to your inner moral panic. “Weed brownies, maybe? I mean, I could probably make them on my own. I still have all of Dad’s—my Dad’s—old recipes, and there’s the internet, but… I guess I thought you might want to bake together?”

Well, shucks, he really does know how to get to you, doesn’t he? The two of you bake together quite a bit, actually. It reminds him of baking with his dad, you know it does, even though he swears that he still hates most baked goods. And although your dad is still around, and you still bake with him, it’s nice to have an excuse to indulge in one of your favourite hobbies in a way that feels less… familiar.

Baking with Dad still feels a little bit like baking under the thumb of the Condesce, if you’re being perfectly honest. Baking with John feels different. Like baking with a _friend_ , and you really didn’t have a lot of friends to hang out with in person while you were living under the Condesce’s thumb.

So you do bake with John a lot, but most of the time you’re the one inviting him over, or inviting yourself over to his place. And you don’t mind, not really. You know that John is… going through some stuff, or maybe dealing with something he’s been dealing with for a long time.

You don’t really talk about it—maybe you should—but you know that John doesn’t leave the house much if he doesn’t have someone taking him by the hand, and you know that he appreciates having people over even if he rarely invites them over himself.

So you don’t really mind that you have to initiate things most of the time when you hang out, but you have to admit that it feels nice that he’s the one wanting to hang out with you this time. Even if it is to bake weed brownies together.

Right. He’s still waiting for you to answer him. He looks pretty nervous, actually, and now you feel bad for making him think that you’d… what? Judge him? Get angry at him? Oh, wow, he really did think you might get mad about this.

“Yeah,” you say. “Of course. Why not! Let’s do it.”

He looks surprised. “Oh. Wow. Really? I kind of thought you’d be, I don’t know, not into it?”

“I’m not a stick in the mud, John Egbert! I told you! I’m fun! I can, uh… do the mary jane?”

He stares at you for a second, and then starts laughing. “Oh my god. Please never say that again. No. Wait. _Do_ say that again. Please say that again. That is the best thing you’ve ever said.”

“I’m trying to be cool!” You’re mostly joking, but a little part of you is glowing red hot with embarrassment.

You think all of your friends just… know how to be cool, and how to say the right thing, all the time, and you never do, which is why they all think you’re lame, and that hurts, a little bit. You don’t like to admit it, but it does.

John shakes his head and stops laughing long enough to smile at you.

“Okay, you’re cool,” he says. “You are cool, actually, Jane. Thank you.”

And, okay, that makes it hurt a little less.

* * *

“So do we, um… eat them?”

The plate of brownies sits on the kitchen table between you and John, looking so innocuous and tasty, and it’s like they’re _taunting_ you.

“I guess?” John’s just kind of staring at the plate, too.

It’s been a few days since John showed you his secret weed basement. This afternoon, John sent Casey over to one of her salamander friends’ houses for a sleepover, and you came over armed with the best quality cocoa you’ve been able to alchemize and a weed brownie recipe on your phone that felt so oddly illicit to google that you had to do it in an incognito tab.

What? You still baked the dang things. You’re trying.

“What do you mean, you guess? I thought you were the expert here,” you say. You even put icing and sprinkles on these things, because you like to do things right.

So they do look really good, and they _mostly_ only smell like chocolate.

John shrugs. “I don’t know! I’ve never tried edibles before. I think they’re supposed to be stronger, or different, or something?”

“John Egbert, if you made a whole production of getting me to bake weed brownies with you and then you tell me that we’re not even going to _eat_ them, I’m going to—”

“No, no, we will! Just um… Okay, this might sound weird, but… Can we invite Dirk and Rose over?”

That is absolutely not what you were expecting him to say. John is just full of surprises, apparently.

“Dirk and Rose? Why?” Then you quickly add, “Not that they aren’t both lovely friends that I cherish dearly and enjoy spending time with, but… why?”

John drums his fingers against the tabletop, fidgeting. John always looks a little scruffy and fidgety these days, his hair overgrown, usually dressed in hoodies and sweats that probably haven’t seen the inside of a washing machine in too long, bags under his eyes and hands jittering nervously as he summons tiny gusts of wind that he doesn’t really seem to be aware of.

It’s kind of hard to remember if he was this way when you met him three years ago, or if he’s grown into this awkward person. You feel guilty, like maybe there’s something you could be doing for him that you’re not. And then you wonder how you look, if you look better or worse than you did three years ago, and what that says about you.

“I just think, maybe, Dirk and Rose need to chill? No, that sounds bad. It’s just… Look, have you noticed that they both seem to be… off, recently?” John asks.

Do they? You’re not sure. You think all of you, every one of you who went through the game and came into this world as weird teen gods, are _off_ in different ways. Maybe being ecto-clones created within a universe-building video game left you all with brains that aren’t quite wired right. Or maybe that’s just what growing up is. Figuring out all the ways in which your wiring is off.

Gosh, you sound like Dirk. Actually, now that you think about it, last time you talked to Dirk, he did seem oddly fixated on wiring. Both of the robotic and the brain kind, but hasn’t Dirk always been obsessed with that kind of stuff? With the splintering of his selves and of his mind?

Maybe he has been talking about it more lately. When you can get him to talk, that is. He still comes to Jake and Jade’s weekly mandatory movie nights, but it feels like you see him less than you used to.

And Rose, come to think of it, hasn’t come to a movie a night in two weeks. Because of the migraines she’s been having, and you offered to try some of your lifey healing powers on her, to help with them, but she only said she didn’t think these were the kind of migraines you could magic away, and you didn’t argue with her.

So maybe. Maybe Dirk and Rose do seem a little more off than usual.

“Maybe Dirk and Rose do seem a little more off than usual,” you say to John.

John nods. “Right? And, maybe it’s weird of me to be like, hey! You guys seems like you need to relax a little. Do you wanna, like, get high together?”

“That might come off as a little weird, yes.”

“But I figured it might be less weird if I was like, hey, so, Jane and I made some weed brownies, do you want to come try them?”

“That… I’m not sure if that’s less weird or more weird, to be perfectly honest, John,” you tell him. Also you’re starting to feel a little bit embarrassed, wondering what Dirk and Rose will think when they find out that you _made weed brownies_.

This is so out of character for you. Will this make you seem cooler? Or will they see right through you with those piercing Strilonde gazes and realize that you have absolutely no idea what you’re doing?

“I know! I know. I’m being weird,” John says. “And just to be clear, this wasn’t like… a ploy. I really did want to bake with you. And we don’t have to invite Dirk and Rose over, I just thought, I don’t know, when I start getting weird thoughts and start feeling like everything here is strange and fake and too good and too bad at the same time, this just kind of… takes the edge off of those thoughts, right? And I think Dirk and Rose might need that right now.”

There’s a lot to unpack in what John just said. It seems like there’s an invitation there, an opening to talk to John about these _thoughts_ , about the things going on in his brain that neither of you will name even though you can both see it, right there…

But you’ve never been good at talking about this kind of thing, have you? About thoughts and feelings. So, without really meaning to, you brush off the possibility of that deeper conversation and instead say, “It’s fine! Invite them over. I might not be an expert but even I know we made way more brownies than two people could or should eat on their own, and I don’t want there to be a single leftover when Casey gets home tomorrow.”

John nods emphatically. “Gotta protect the children,” he says, and then he’s reaching for his phone, and oh god, Dirk and Rose are really going to see you get high for the first time, aren’t they?

You wonder if either of them have ever gotten high, actually. Wow. Maybe John really is the expert here.

“Okay,” John says, after tapping away at his phone for a minute. “Dirk says, and I quote, ‘If it weren’t for the fact that your mom-sister is going to be present, I’d think you were trying to woo me, Egbert, and I’ll have you know that I’m not a cheap bitch so if you plan to lure me in with material offerings you’d better be ready to commit.’ Which I think means he’s coming? And Rose just said, ‘Hm interesting,’ so who knows what that means.”

You don’t know Rose well enough to judge what _hm interesting_ could mean, but you’ve known Dirk for years and you recognize his nervousness when you hear it, which oddly makes you feel a bit better about the whole situation. You’re not sure exactly _what_ Dirk is nervous about—weed, John, social interaction?—but it’s something.

John tosses his phone between his hands and shrugs. “Should we wait for them?” he asks.

“Probably,” you say.

* * *

You’ve experienced your fair share of awkward situations, including but not limited to asking your crush to have a “bajillion babies” with you. To be fair, that happened under the effects of weird alien candy drugs, so maybe you technically have been high before? You’re pretty sure weed is nothing like the lollipop juju, though.

The point is, you’ve felt some pretty crushing awkwardness before, but sitting with John at his kitchen table trying not to think about that fact that you’re about to get high together is definitely right up there on your list of Most Awkward Moments.

John is messing around on his phone while you wait for Dirk and Rose to (maybe?) show up, and you’re trying not to freak out. Baking the brownies gave you something to _do_ , a purpose to distract you, but now that you’re just _waiting_ you don’t know what to do with yourself.

It’s not like you think anything _bad_ is going to happen. You know exactly where this weed came from (John’s basement), you know exactly who you’re going to get high with (John and friends), you know exactly who made the edibles (literally you), so this is basically a textbook example of “safe and smart ways to get high”—and even if you somehow _died_ from this, there’s no way it would be a Just or Heroic death.

That doesn’t stop you from being _nervous_ though. You’ve always been a good kid. Maybe a little bit of a goodie two shoes. So you don’t like to break rules! So sue you! And you also, well… you also don’t like not being in control. Not in a _bad_ way, you don’t think. It’s not like you like to manipulate people or anything. You just like to know how things are going to go. You like to know that there’s a plan and that it’s your plan and that everything is going to go according to plan.

You and Dirk actually have a lot in common in that department, so you’re kind of surprised when there’s a knock at John’s door, and when you both jump up to answer it, you find Dirk standing on the threshold.

You kind of thought he might not want the loss of control that you’re pretty sure getting high will bring.

“Hey, party people,” Dirk says, utterly deadpan as he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Y’all didn’t get started without me, did you?”

“Nope!” John says quickly. “We were waiting for you, and for Rose, but I don’t know if she’s going to—”

“She is going to, as it turns out.” All three of you turn to see Rose landing gracefully on John’s front lawn a few feet away. Being able to fly really cuts down on commuting time for all of you.

“Hey! Wow, I really didn’t think you’d both come,” John says.

“I take it we were the only guests invited to this titillating midafternoon rendezvous, then?” Rose asks, making her way to the front door. She looks pale, her eyes bruised purple around the edges, and her graceful movements are conspicuously slow.

Maybe you should have pressed her harder about letting you try your Life powers on her.

She comes to a stop beside Dirk and puts a familial arm around his shoulders. You see him tense minutely, but he doesn’t pull away.

“To what do we, specifically, owe the pleasure of this visit?” she asks John.

You wonder if he’s going to tell them what he told you, but he just shrugs and says, “I just thought you guys might want to try Jane’s brownies. Sheesh, it’s not that deep.”

At that, they both seem to notice you, standing a few feet behind John in the doorway.

“I must say, John’s text about your new culinary adventures surprised me, Jane,” Rose says.

“Full of surprises, that Janey,” Dirk says. He shrugs Rose off in a way that looks so fluid and casual that you’d almost think he was totally comfortable in this situation, if you didn’t know him so well.

He brushes past you into John’s house, and the rest of you follow him into the kitchen.

Dirk and Rose’s arrival hasn’t made this situation any less awkward, and your palms are starting to sweat. You’d be mad at John for dragging you into this whole situation, if he didn’t look almost as nervous as you feel.

You wipe your palms against the front of your jeans and pray to whatever gods that exist outside your own godhood that this is a good idea.

* * *

This wasn’t a good idea. This was a _great_ idea.

Two brownies in and you are _floating_. You are literally capable of floating, because you are an _actual god_ , so you are floating a few inches above John’s couch, letting the air around you cushion you like a thousand feather-soft clouds.

You are also floating _inside_ your head, inside your body, your whole self feeling light and buoyant in a way you can’t describe with any word except _perfect_.

“Diiiiirk,” you say, reaching for him.

He seems impossibly far away from you, sitting on the floor beside the couch, but your hand suddenly connects with the top of his head and _wow_. His hair feels so soft. You expected it to feel stiff, like hair gel, but it’s so _soft_ and nice and you stick both of your hands in his hair and just start playing with it.

“Whoa, Crocker, this is getting all kinds of intimate,” he says. He doesn’t pull away from you, though. He’s leaning back against the couch and his posture is lazy and _relaxed_ in a way you don’t think you’ve ever seen him be before.

You remember how completely unaffected he was by the lollipop juju, and you were sort of afraid he’d be just as unaffected by John’s weed, but he is _definitely_ feeling it.

You float down from the couch until you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of Dirk, facing him, your hands still petting through his soft, soft hair.

“Hey, Dirk,” you say, leaning forward until your forehead knocks against his with a solid _thunk_ that would probably hurt a little bit if everything didn’t already feel so _perfect_.

“Jane, you know I love you, but please in the name of all that is sicknasty and holy, don’t you dare kiss me. My delicate manly constitution couldn’t handle it,” he says.

You shake your head against his. “No, no, no,” you say. “I wouldn’t. You might be the bee’s knees mister Strider but you are certainly not my type and I know I’m not yours _buuut…_ ” You drag the word out to add some suspense, some _panache_. “I’m gonna do this.”

You let your hands slide from his hair down to his cheeks and hold his face between your hands firmly. You pull your face away from his just enough to look him in the eye properly. This close up, you can see through the dark tint of his sunglasses. His eyes are wide open, staring back into yours.

You pull one of your hands back from his face and then gently tap his cheek, a slow-motion slap. _Pap pap._

His mouth parts in gentle surprise.

“Jane Crocker, are you _papping_ me?”

“Shoosh,” you say.

“God shitting damn, you are. You’re shoosh papping me. Which troll taught you this?”

“ _Shooooosh_ ,” you say it louder, papping his cheeks firmly with both hands.

“This isn’t just pale flirty, Janey, this is pale _third base_. Even I know that. Look at me being the motherfucking fool now, thinking John was inviting me over to woo me out of my pants but nope, it was Jane Crocker’s plan all along to woo me into her shoosh papping hands.”

“Shoosh, Dirk.” He’s still babbling, but his eyes have gone soft and half-lidded behind his shades.

The thing is, this wasn’t any kind of plan. You had no intention of getting your pale troll romance on with your best bro Dirk Strider. You’d never really even thought about pale romance, except in the cursory way you’re sure all humans think about it when they learn about troll romance. And if someone had asked you who you’d consider to be your moirail, if forced to pick, you’d have said Roxy, or maybe even John.

Not _Dirk_ , never Dirk, but sitting here in John’s house, floating on brownies and good feelings… it feels _right_. Predestined, even, the way Karkat always talks about these things.

“This is getting pretty graphic, Janey, with our slime kids sitting two feet away from us,” Dirk says.

You glance vaguely back at John and Rose. They’re sharing a single armchair, crowded against each other as they talk in low voices, their heads pressed almost as close together as yours and Dirk’s.

“They’re fine,” you say, turning back to Dirk. “It’s fine. We’re…” And then your hands still against his cheeks as your thoughts catch up to you. “Are we fine? Is this fine? I’m not freaking you out, am I? Gosh darn, sometimes I get ahead of myself, and—”

“Janey. Nah. It’s cool,” he says, and then _his_ hands are gently patting your cheeks. Almost hesitant, at first, and then more firmly. “Shoosh.”

It should sound silly. All of this should be silly. But trolls must actually know what they’re doing, because it feels… _nice._ It feels nice to feel the firm pat of his palms against your cheeks, the rough fabric of his fingerless gloves and the calluses on his fingers, his voice deep and low as he whispers against your face.

If you were floating before, now you’re jelly, dripping between his fingers like you’re melting from the inside in the most pleasant way imaginable.

“We should do this again,” you say softly, letting your eyes slide closed.

“What? Get high with the ecto-kids?” Dirk asks, his voice barely a murmur.

“Mmm,” you hum, his hands still soft against your cheeks. “ _This_ ,” you say, papping him again.

You hope that _this_ , this moment with Dirk, what’s happening between the two of you right now, you hope that it’s not just the weed brownies talking. Because it doesn’t just feel nice—it feels _important_ , somehow, like a solution to a problem you didn’t even know needed solving.

Something falls into place in the back of your mind, and you have the strangest feeling that you have just avoided some kind of disaster, like the jolt of adrenaline that courses through you when you catch a glass before it can fall to the floor and shatter.

You wonder if John knew something you didn’t. Maybe he just sensed it before you did. Because you suddenly suspect that all of you—the four of you in this room, and maybe all of your friends on Earth C—you were all that glass, teetering on the edge of the counter, and somehow this moment has pulled you all back from that brink.

Or maybe it is just the weed brownies talking. It’s a nice thought, though.

“Yeah,” Dirk says, and you wonder if he feels it, too. “This.”


End file.
